


Icebreaker

by MintAqua



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Between Seasons 8 and 10, Canon Compliant, Canon Related, Canon-typical Cursing, Discussions of Character Death (sort of), Explicit Language, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Spoilers for the finales for seasons 8 and 9, basically everybody's sad about Church but won't say it, mentions of canon dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 19:19:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5714098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MintAqua/pseuds/MintAqua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Blues don't steal a Pelican like the Reds did. They travel home on foot, and to be honest, it's really awkward.</p><p>(Post season 8 scene pre-Carolina from Wash's POV)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Icebreaker

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic in a while, my first RvB fic ever, and my first fic on Ao3 of all time, so if I messed up the tags or warnings, I apologize in advance. Please let me know ASAP if I need to add or change anything. Also, it might have been easy to miss in the tags, but this fic does briefly mention the conception of Junior in a dubious light, so be forewarned.
> 
> Anyway, I just felt the need to write something about Wash's headplace right after the Blues take him in as Church's replacement, and I've always been curious about his first impression of Tucker, so this fic is fulfilling both needs at once.

Wash is still processing everything that happened on the way back home, barely tuned in to whatever nonsense Caboose and Tucker are talking about. Everything feels slightly off, as if someone has suddenly flipped the ‘murder’ switch off without leaving him any time to recalibrate. It had been turned on right up until the moment the Blues shoved him into Church’s armor, a moment that involved a lot of shouting and confusion and he thinks he might have accidentally punched Doc at one point. He thought he was being attacked. He didn’t even consider the possibility that they might save him.

The more he thinks about it, the more it makes sense that the Blues wouldn’t try to hurt him. Caboose couldn’t hurt a fly--on purpose, anyway--and Tucker… 

Tucker. He doesn’t really know much about that guy, yet. He knows exactly four things, in fact: his name is Tucker, he’s a Blue, he had been working on some kind of alien mission while Wash and the other Blues were off on their ‘adventure,’ and he doesn’t want to kill Wash. Tucker doesn’t seem to know much about Wash, either, which puts him on thin ice. Wash isn’t sure how much information he can divulge, how much would be too much before one or both of them decide to give him the boot, but he thinks he’s probably safe for now. Probably.

Still, it’s hard to navigate himself socially when he doesn’t have a lick of information on Tucker other than those four basic facts. He read his file before hunting down the Blues, but that was a long time ago and, really, no amount of paperwork actually prepared him for the idiocy and ridiculousness that was the Blood Gulch crew. He’s still waiting on what Tucker’s unique brand of imbecility is; surely he must have one.

“And then--and then they tied me up and left me in a room. I think they forgot about me for a while,” Caboose says to Tucker. “But yeah, that captain was really mean. I don’t think he liked me.”

Out of the kindness of his heart, Wash interjects, “That’s not necessarily true. Captains always have to be hard on their privates.”

“Dang, being  _ that _ hard on their privates must make their privates pretty hard. Bow chika bow wow,” is the only contribution Tucker has.

Caboose laughs halfheartedly and then whispers, “I don’t get it.”

Wash sighs. Well, that didn’t take long.

The ridiculousness of the conversation seems to mutate and get even worse as it goes on and on, as do most of their conversations, Wash observes. So these are the men he’ll be on a team with. Here they are. Heading off to play capture the flag in a box canyon and wait for a Freelancer--or, perhaps just a random outsider now--to come by and make things interesting. Wash had participated in one or two of those simulations in his early days as a Freelancer, but he had never actually pledged loyalty to either Red or Blue before. And now he’s the leader of one of them--presumably; he can’t imagine either of the idiots before him taking the helm. Maybe he could squeeze some fun out of it. Granted, it would hardly be a fair competition, with the Reds as their enemies…

There’s a flash of guilt before Wash can identify the source. Then he remembers: the pink one. The one he shot out of cold blood, before he even learned his name. In all fairness, he was just following orders--but, no, really, he wasn’t. It was a gratuitous death. A shot full of resentment. All of a sudden he’s not even sure if he  _ wants _ to go back to that place. For all he knows, the Reds will see the mess they left behind, remember what he did to them, and change their minds about being peaceful. Maybe even the Blues would, too.

“Yo, Wash,” Tucker says, and Wash makes a noise of acknowledgement. He tries not to sound like he has just been startled out of his thoughts. “Is Washington your first name or your last name?”

“What?” The question is just stupid enough to fully snap him out of it. “Neither. It’s a codename.”

“Do we get codenames, too? I’ll be, umm, uhh…” Caboose trails off, dragging out the ‘uh.’

Washington sighs patiently. “Caboose, we’re not--”

“Don’t pressure me! Let me think!” Caboose pauses. “Umm…maybe...maybe--no, no! Uhh...”

After a moment of this, Wash exchanges a look with Tucker. When Caboose doesn’t stop making noises, Wash continues. “Anyway… Technically I’m not Agent Washington, anymore. Agent Washington died on the cliff. So for all intents and purposes, from this point on, I’m Leonard Church. The, uh. The soldier, not the director.”

“I don’t know…” Tucker clicks his tongue thoughtfully. “It’s kinda weird to name you after my sort-of-dead friend.”

“You don’t have to call me it on a regular basis, but if anyone asks, that’s who I am.”

Tucker makes a noise like he’s unconvinced. “Won’t that kind of be an issue? I mean, sure, you pull off his armor pretty good, but unless you look, like, really similar with your armor off, they’ll probably find out eventually.” A pause. “Or maybe not. I’m pretty sure Command still thinks I’m white.”

“Oh.” Wash can’t help the surprise in his voice. “As opposed to…?”

“Does it matter?”

“No, not really. But you’re the one who brought it up.”

“Yeah dude, ‘cause I was making a point.” 

“A point about…?”

Tucker shakes his head. “Racists.”

Washington isn’t sure what to say to that. “Alright, point made. So you don’t think anyone will notice?”

Tucker looks him up and down. “Eh, I don’t know. Maybe. Say something that sounds like Church.”

“No, I told you, that’s not the point--”

Out of nowhere, Caboose squawks indignantly. “Tucker, shut  _ up _ ! I’m trying to think!”

Tucker holds both hands up in surrender. “Okay, geez, chill out!”

Caboose lowers his voice. “Actually,” he says in his typical timid fashion, “that was my Church impression.”

“Oh. Well, in that case, nice one.”

“Thank you.”

Tucker turns back to Wash. “So yeah, just yell at us a lot and you’ll be fine. But not too much. Unlike Sarge, Church doesn’t really give a fuck... Or.” There’s an odd pause. “Didn’t. I guess.”

Washington watches Tucker grow quiet, his shoulders drooping slightly with the weight of the realization. It’s an odd feeling, recognizing that he’s not the only one who can’t come away from this feeling like it’s happily-ever-after. It makes the situation feel somewhat realer than it already did.

“I would like to be Cupcake,” Caboose says solemnly.

There’s a pause. Wash looks to Tucker for clarification, but Tucker doesn’t offer any. They look at Caboose.

“Oh, I’m sorry.  _ Agent _ Cupcake,” he adds.

Wash just stares for a while. “It must be nice inside your head,” he says eventually.

“Yeah, everything’s really nice, usually,” Caboose agrees. “Except when there are evil computer programs inside it; then, not really.”

Wash can’t help but snort. “Tell me about it.”

“Well, there was this bad guy named O’Malley, and--”

“I didn’t mean literally, Caboose.”

Caboose stares into space, like he’s concentrating very hard on something. “I don’t know how to tell the story metaphorically.”

“I’m...honestly just surprised that you know what a metaphor is.”

“I don’t. That’s why I can’t tell the story.”

“Ah.”

Tucker sighs. It’s hard to tell if it’s aimed at Caboose or if he’s still hung up on Church.

Washington clears his throat, feeling obligated to patch things up somehow. “Hey, Tucker--”

“So what do you know about me, anyway?” Tucker asks, bouncing back immediately. “I mean, I doubt I came up much when you were off fucking shit up with the rest of the guys. But you knew my name back at the cliff with the Meta, so...”

Washington takes note of how he clearly avoided mentioning Church by name. Not touching that subject for a while, then, which is fine. At least he’s easier to talk to than Caboose. “Well, I read your file. So I know all the basics.”

Tucker nearly stops in his tracks. “Wait, you read my file and you still don’t know what race I am?”

“Uh, well…” Wash thinks back on it. He had pretty much glossed over it once he heard that Tucker would be unavailable to help. He barely even remembers his picture. “I think they listed you as...Alaskan. Are you Alaskan?”

“No, Wash,” Tucker says with a clear deadpan in his voice. “I’m not Alaskan. Do you even remember my full name? Let me guess, was I listed as ‘John Macintosh McGee Tucker’?”

“Is that supposed to be a really white name?”

“It is, yeah! And for the record, my name’s Lavernius! Lavernius Tucker!” Tucker throws up his hands as Caboose chimes in, “Hi, I’m Caboose!” if only to feel more included. “God! You’d think they’d pay more attention to the fuckin’ alien ambassador with the badass ancient weapon!”

Wash searches his brain again, because that can’t be right. Tucker, an alien ambassador? He’s only known him for two hours and already he can think of how many different ways that could go wrong. “Oh, right, that was in your file as well. I’m...not too clear on the details, though. What were your qualifications, exactly?”

Tucker makes an offended sound. “What do you mean ‘what were your qualifications’? Is it that hard to believe?”

“Is it hard to believe that a random sim soldier was chosen as a political spokesperson for the entire human race? Yes. Yes, it is.”

“Well, you better believe it. I’m an alien baby daddy, man. Junior’s the first human-alien cross-breed since, like, ever.” Tucker rests his hands behind his head. “I’m kind of a big deal.”

“You….had sex with an alien. And they made you an ambassador because of that.”

“It wasn’t like that! I mean...” All of a sudden, Tucker trails off again. The pause can be read as either thoughtful or uncomfortable; either way, it feels like a complicated subject. Wash can feel the metaphorical ice thinning beneath their feet as he waits for Tucker to go on.

“I mean...we didn’t really have sex, I think,” Tucker says after a moment. “Maybe he just planted an egg on me somewhere? Or something, I don’t know. I just woke up and had a baby.”

Wash bites back the instinct to prod, to investigate. If he doesn’t remember how it happened, then it wasn’t consensual. They can leave it at that. “So you’re an alien ambassador who doesn’t even know how aliens give birth,” he says instead.

“Hey!” Caboose cuts in yet again. “You don’t need to know how babies are born to be smart, you know. Even though everybody here knows how they work. Except Tucker.”

Tucker crosses his arms, defensive. “I know more than you do, dumbass! I’m the one who gave birth, remember? You don’t even know how human babies work!”

“Babies don’t work, stupid! No one even makes suits and ties that tiny!”

“And you dealt with the local aliens from the desert?” Wash asks, putting them back on track. He recalls the crude drawings they made during interrogations and wonders just how much of that was a reaction to Tucker’s ‘ambassador work.’

“Uh… ‘Dealt with’ is kind of a strong way of putting it.”

“It’s more like we came there and then upset them and ran away,” Caboose supplies.

Tucker nods. “Yeeeah. Yeah.”

Wash sighs. “Well, you can take comfort in the fact that we won’t have anything that important to do for a long time. Just capture the flag.”

“Yeah, and we barely even do that much,” Tucker adds.

“You don’t? Then what the hell do you do out there?”

“I don’t know, man. I haven’t even been to the shiny new base we have now. But if it’s anything like Blood Gulch, then all we’re gonna do is sit around talking to each other and watching the Reds through the sniper rifle.” Tucker glances at Caboose as he examines his gun. “And he’ll probably make another machine friend and use it to kill one of us. Or just Church. Again. Somehow.”’

“Tucker did it,” Caboose says automatically.

“Standing right here, dude,” Tucker replies, almost reflexively.

Washington can feel all the untold in-jokes and stories they share with each other, all the memories they have with Church even more so. He watches them readjust to their old ways nevertheless, even with Church’s absence still weighing heavy on all of their minds. It won’t be easy letting go of him--loss has never been that easy, Wash muses bitterly--but right now, listening to them fall back into their old ways, it feels like things might turn out okay.

Suddenly, Wash crashes into Caboose, who has frozen in place. Washington grunts, but before he can chalk it up to Caboose being absentminded as always, he notices that Tucker has stopped walking, as well. He’s holding his gun.

“Church,” Caboose whispers, and at first Wash thinks Caboose is hallucinating, but then he realizes Caboose is looking right at Wash. He might have taken the whole ‘call me Church’ thing a bit too seriously; Wash isn’t all that surprised. “Who’s that guy talking to the Reds?”

Washington follows his finger to a few figures in the distance. It is indeed the Reds, their vehicle stopped in the middle of nowhere as they surround a soldier in greenish blue armor. Very, very familiar greenish blue. The stranger looks like they’re ready for a fight.

The Blues look at him expectantly.

“Well, shit.”


End file.
